


the thrill isn't in the winning, it's in the doing

by thundersquall



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bets & Wagers, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9235004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: “Shut up,” Jonny grunts. He stretches a little - Patrick’s USA jersey is a little too short and small for him, and the fabric strains across his chest. He watches Patrick’s eyes zoom right in to the sliver of skin on his stomach as the jersey rides up, and feels a little jolt of satisfaction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so apparently, patrick and jonny made a wager on the outcome of the USA vs Canada WJC gold medal game, and since canada lost, it seems that jonny has to dress up in team USA gear lol. i just _had_ to write this after the news broke, couldn't help myself.
> 
> originally posted [here](http://kanerboo.tumblr.com/post/155514517158/patrick-kanejonathan-toews-explicit-pwp-you). i cleaned this up a little from the original, but it's still a fic written in like half an hour and reads as such, so y'know. scale down those expectations! :3
> 
> edit: WE HAVE [VISUAL](https://twitter.com/88PKane/status/818293335588802560) [PROOF](https://twitter.com/JonathanToews/status/818303781653901313).

 

“You look so good,” Patrick says, voice thick in his throat. He’s leaning back against the headboard, palming himself restlessly. His fingers are already shiny from the smear of precome on them.

“Shut up,” Jonny grunts. He stretches a little - Patrick’s USA jersey is a little too short and small for him, and the fabric strains across his chest. He watches Patrick’s eyes zoom right in to the sliver of skin on his stomach as the jersey rides up, and feels a little jolt of satisfaction. 

He may have lost this dumb bet, but he’s winning anyway, with Patrick all laid out nice and naked for him on their bed and getting hot at the sight of Jonny in his gear.

Patrick licks his lips when Jonny kneewalks up the bed, between his spread legs. “Shit,” he says. “Maybe I gotta put you in my gear more often, Toews.” He reaches out and slips his fingers into the waistband of his hockey shorts, tight against Jonny’s abs, slides them over to the blue suspenders, and tugs a little before snapping it back against the skin.

Jonny feels the sting right down to his balls. “Jesus christ, Pat,” he says, and then - fuck - Patrick leans up and follows it with his tongue, running it over the groove of Jonny’s v-cut, and slips it cheekily beneath the waistband.

Jonny winds his fingers into Patrick’s hair - the curls are growing back again and it’s easy for Jonny to grab a handful - and pulls. Not hard, but enough for Patrick to jerk back up, head back and the lovely pale skin of his neck exposed. “You want me to take these off so you can suck me?” 

That hadn’t been the bet, of course. Patrick wants Jonny to fuck him while wearing his goddamn too-small gear, and Jonny’s going to do that, but first he’s going to enjoy seeing Patrick warring between his need to get Jonny’s cock in his mouth, or in him.

Patrick sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tonguing at it compulsively. It fucking drives Jonny crazy when he does that, and it takes all he’s got to not just shove the too-tight shorts down and fuck Patrick’s mouth until he’s shooting down his throat. But finally Patrick says, “No. Just - fuck me, goddammit”, curving his fingers around Jonny’s ass, the blue USA shorts practically stretched to the limit around them, and squeezes. 

“Yeah,” Jonny says. “I’m gonna do it.” 

Patrick scrambles back towards the headboard, leans against it again. He draws his legs up wide and open, and there it is, the dark pinkness of his hole between his legs, all slick from when he’d opened himself earlier while Jonny was struggling into his gear.

“You want it like this?” Jonny asks, reaching down and rubbing over his cock, trapped in the shorts. 

Patrick tilts his head and looks him up and down, considering. Then he shakes his head and prods at Jonny with his toes. “Lean back on your knees,” he says. “Like that - yeah, kneel up, sit on your heels.”

Jonny settles back on his haunches. They don’t normally do this - Patrick usually prefers to have Jonny take control - but he’d promised Patrick he could do whatever he wanted. Let it never be said that Jonathan Toews is a sore loser.

Patrick gets on his knees and now it’s his turn to kneewalk over to Jonny and climb onto his lap, until he’s right up close, his thighs bracketing Jonny’s. He’s so much smaller than Jonny like this, splayed out over Jonny's bulk, that he has to spread his legs wide in order to fit them over Jonny’s thighs. “Wow,” he breathes, plucking at the jersey on Jonny’s shoulders. “Wow. Kind of a waste you’re not in Team USA, huh?”

“Never fucking ever, Kaner,” Jonny says, and Patrick just laughs, leans in to kiss him.

Kissing Patrick never gets old, no matter how many times they do this. His mouth is soft, lips a little chapped, and he kisses hungrily, like he needs Jonny to breathe. Jonny wraps an arm around his waist, slides his other hand down Patrick’s naked back, down down, until his fingers reach the warm slickness of his hole and the tips sink in, easy.

Patrick rears back with a sucked-in breath, and grabs at Jonny’s arms. “Off,” he says urgently. “Shorts, off - “ 

Jonny lets him unclip the suspenders from the shorts - Patrick honest-to-god looks sad to see them go - and push the shorts down. Jonny works them down with some difficulty over his hips and legs, kicking at them with his knees until they’re tangled around his calves. Patrick smoothes his hands over the big USA logo over his chest, and grins.

“What you waiting for, big guy?” he asks.

Jonny snorts; but he lifts Patrick easily, arm still tight around him and hand on his ass, and fits his cock at Patrick’s hole.

“Yeeeeah, mama,” Patrick says breathlessly when Jonny’s fat cockhead pops in, squeezing his thighs against Jonny’s hips and gripping fistfuls of his jersey on Jonny’s shoulders.

“Jesus, don’t fucking talk about mamas when we’re doing this,” Jonny groans as Patrick takes him in, smooth and quick, opening up so easily for Jonny. Jonny lets Patrick sink down on him, gravity helping to speed him up, until his cock's pushed all the way in, Patrick’s sweet ass flush against his thighs, just hanging on with his death grip on his jersey and his weight settled on Jonny's quads, Jonny’s arm holding him steady.

Patrick just laughs, even if he sounds like he’s just run a bag skate with the way he’s panting and his cheeks furiously red. “Don’t you cry,” he says shakily. “USA hockey is do or die - “

“Shut the  _fuck_  up,” Jonny says, and replicates his words by fucking up into Patrick.

It does the trick.

Patrick barely does anything except sit on his lap with his arms hooked over Jonny's thick shoulders, lets Jonny fuck him, his face tucked into Jonny’s neck so Jonny can feel the short, quick puffs of air Patrick exhales every time he thrusts in. Once he lifts his head long enough to look over Jonny’s shoulder. “Shit,” he says. “I can see - Jonny, my fuckin’ number, it’s on your back. My  _name_.”

“I know,” Jonny says, and stops to adjust them both; this angle's great for showing off his core strength, but not that great for preventing his cock slipping out of Patrick's wet hole. He heaves Patrick higher on his lap, gets his knees under Patrick's thighs, spreads his asscheeks open with both hands, and goes right back in.

“Wearing my number. On my fuckin' USA jersey, Jonny,” Patrick moans, and lets his head drop back, just taking it. Taking whatever Jonny’s giving him. His face is a furious red, and Jonny’s pretty sure he’s pulled his own jersey out of shape at the shoulders, given how tightly he’s grabbing at and yanking on the material.

Jonny bites at the long, lean line of his neck. “Yeah, I am,” he says into Patrick’s skin. “So what’re you gonna do about it? Like seeing me in your name, eh? With your colours on me?”

“Fuck,” Patrick groans, drawing out the fricative, and worms a hand between the both of them so he can grab at his dick, bobbing between their bodies. Jonny watches as he wraps his hand around it; he’s not even bothering to jerk it, not really, just holding it in a loose grip and letting the natural motions of Jonny lifting him up and down his cock work it.

“You won,” Jonny says, and licks at a bead of sweat rolling down Patrick’s neck. He can already feel the small fluttering of Patrick's muscles, snug around his cock, a telltale sign of his impending orgasm. “You won, and you got to put me in your colours, babe. In your number.” 

“God, fuck, Jonny - “ and then Patrick comes, gasping hard, ass squeezing tight around Jonny’s cock, spurting through his fingers. There’s streaks of it all over the USA logo.

Jonny pulls out as fast as he can and lays Patrick on his back so he can straddle his chest and jerk off. Patrick’s got his eyes shut tight as he breathes heavily through the aftershocks of his orgasm, but Jonny cups his chin, shakes it. 

“Look at me, Pat,” he says. “Come on. Look at me. I’m getting off wearing your jersey, babe.”

Patrick’s eyes fly right open, and Jonny grins. “Yeah, that’s it.” He lifts the hem of the jersey with his free hand, enough that Patrick can see his straining abs under it, and gets some of Patrick’s come smeared off the logo onto his hand. Lifts his hand to his mouth and licks it off, still staring at Patrick, before he drops the jersey again. It bunches around his waist, stretched taut by bulging muscle.

“Jesus fuck,” Patrick swears, and wraps his own come-wet hand over Jonny’s on his cock, tangling their fingers together, helping Jonny jerk it.

He comes like that, Patrick’s hazy blue eyes fixed on him, the warm wet pressure of his fingers bringing him along. It goes on for-fucking-ever, just shooting messily on Patrick’s chest and stomach, and Jonny presses his cock against his stomach for the last few pulses, working the come out on Patrick’s jersey.

It’s pretty satisfying how Patrick groans at that, and they’re not teenagers anymore but Jonny can see his dick twitch to life again anyway. Just from watching Jonny come on the Kane USA jersey he’s wearing.

Yeah. He may have lost this bet, but when it comes to Patrick? He’s a fucking winner.

 


End file.
